


Redheads Have More Fun

by amathela



Category: Batgirl (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Masks, Roof Sex, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3770896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amathela/pseuds/amathela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's used to kicking bad guys in the face, not this super stealthy spy stuff. But it does have it perks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redheads Have More Fun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peacefulboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefulboo/gifts).



Steph looks down dubiously at the wig in her hands.

Dick shrugs. "I have a thing for redheads," he says wryly, and he has that look in his eyes again, the one he's had since this whole thing started. The one she's pretty sure means he's flirting with her.

(Which, honestly, she's finding a little hard to parse. Because he used to be Batman - still is Batman, she supposes, though not exclusively - and he was a good Batman, all scowling and judgey and intimidating. Ever since Bruce came back, though, it's like he's a whole different person, and she can't say she doesn't prefer it.)

"Right," she says. "Remind me why I have to wear a wig, again?"

It's not the first time they've gone over this - more like the third or fourth - but fogive her if she has a hard time following the who's who of Gotham's high society. She's used to kicking bad guys in the face, not this super stealthy spy stuff. But it does have it perks; the dress she's wearing is amazing, backless silk and probably worth more than she'd pay for a month's rent (and if - by some miracle - it's still intact after tonight, that's exactly where it's going).

"It's simple," he says. Steph wants to stick out her tongue, but she refrains; she's pretty sure it wasn't a dig, and she doesn't want to ruin the fact that he's finally taking her seriously. "A lot of new Wayne Enterprises technologies have been mysteriously showing up in other patents, and not the kind we want to see out on the streets. Everybody who's profited from it so far runs in the same circles -"

The kinds of circles he runs in, she thinks. The kind that couldn't be further from the way she grew up. Well, except for the crime.

"- and Bruce thinks they're using social gatherings as meeting spaces. They're off the record, and nobody's going to be asking too many questions about who they're talking to."

"Okay," she says. "And you can't do this alone because?"

"Because this isn't exactly the kind of party you can show up alone to. I need a date."

Right. Of course. She's a misdirect.

"And," he says, "because I could use the backup. Plus, I thought it would be fun."

She can't help smiling at that. Even though it's technically work, it does sound like fun, and she's never been to a masquerade ball before.

"And the masks?" she asks. Hers have little cat ears, and she's not secretly pretending to be Catwoman at all. Not even a little bit. Nope. "Are they just for fun, too?"

"It's a masquerade," he reminds her, and that one's definitely a dig, but not a mean one. "Besides, they'll provide cover. Let us get close enough to eavesdrop without being recognised."

Without him being recognised, he means. She doubts anyone there gives a damn about Stephanie Brown.

"So," she says. "This is a sneaking mission."

"Exactly," he says, and grins at her, holding out his elbow. "Shall we?"

-

"Wow," she breathes as they enter the ballroom. "We are definitely not in Kansas any more." Not that she's ever been to Kansas. Not really her scene. She still thinks she'd fit in better there than here, though.

"Nope," Dick agrees. "Welcome to the one percent."

Rich, entitled, and probably totally evil? In Gotham, that's more like the ten percent. Or fifty.

"What do we do now?" she asks, looking around while trying not to be too obvious about it. She's suddenly very glad for the mask; no-one here needs to see the wide-eyed expression that would otherwise be completely betraying her, let alone her ...

Date? No, that's too wrong. Partner, she supposes, though even that feels like pushing it. Temporary ally? No, that's even worse, and it's not like -

"Steph?"

Right. Way to stay on point.

"I'm with you," she says. "Where are we headed?"

Dick's head barely moves, but she'd bet he's carefully scanned the entire room already. And then he's taking her hand, moving with slow, deceptively casual strides. "I don't know about you," he says, "but I could use a drink."

A moment later, Steph sees what he must have seen. Waiters are roaming with champagne flutes and canapés, but there's a bar over in the corner, and not too far away, a group of men positioned just far enough away from where everyone else is gathered so that they don't stand out but aren't likely to be easily overheard. Not that she expected this to be easy, of course.

She tries to ignore the way Dick's holding her hand as they move across the room. After all, that slight flush could be from the warmth of the air, or from the champagne she hasn't drunk yet. she is definitely not having fluttery stomach feelings for Batman. Ex-Batman, Nightwing, whatever. Not happening.

At least not until he leans against the bar, pulling her close to him, one of his legs wedged between hers, and the temperature rockets up another few thousand degrees.

"What are you doing?" she asks under her breath, awareness of the mission and confusion warring with other things she doesn't quite care to name.

"Establishing a character," he says easily, as if this isn't the closest thing she's gotten to second base in ... well, a long time. "There are two types of people at these events, and this seems like more fun than getting drawn into conversations about the stock market all evening."

Right. So he's basically Bruce Wayne Junior, bored rich boy, with his probably-gold-digging, definitely-temporary arm candy along for the ride. She can see why he didn't go to Cass with this.

"Fair enough," she says, trying to keep her voice at its normal register. It's not like it's a big deal - so what if a super rich, super flirty ex-Batman is standing closer to her than anyone has in a really, really long time? They're just maintaining a cover, is all.

Which she remembers, suddenly, when Dick tenses against her, cocking his head in a subtle gesture. Steph goes with it, turning her head a little to see beside her, locking her gaze somewhere to the left of the group of men so that they stay in her peripheral vision. And tries really, really hard not to jump when she feels Dick's breath on her neck. 

"See it?" he asks, low enough that she feels the rumble of his voice against her skin more than hears it.

She's about to shake her head, but then she does see it, the barest glint of metal, almost invisible in the glitzy room. It's on one of the men's wrists, but she's pretty certain it's not a watch.

"Wayne tech," Dick confirms, and if he doesn't stop pretending to make out with her soon, she's going to want him to stop pretending, if you know what she means. "They have it. We need it."

Finally, Steph thinks. Here comes the easy part.

First, there's getting over there - harder on her nerves, since it involves a mock-drunken stumble, Dick's hand sliding up her thigh, but it's over in a few seconds, and then they're in position. And at least they're moving, at least her heart is already racing and her blood already pumping, so she can pretend there's nothing else going on. Then it's getting into position; more familiar, now, another night on the job, if in a stranger costume than usual. Dick nods, almost imperceptible, and Steph peels off as if towards the ladies' room, flanking the group. They must be getting deeper into business, now; preparing for a transaction, or celebrating one, because their paranoia has gotten sloppier.

And then the plan of attack.

Well. Maybe 'plan' is slightly too strong a word; this whole night has been improv, and they're operating off body language and a reliance on knowing each other well enough to get the job done. Still, she's not going to second guess what works.

And what works, in this case, is Dick's _very_ suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

With a sigh, Steph drops her glass, exclaiming in shock and bending over to pick it up. On cue, two of the men peel off to help her. One of them 'helpfully' places a hand on her ass while he does so, and Steph has to clench her fists for a moment to stop herself from twisting it back painfully. Helpless, slightly drunk damsel, she reminds herself. Primed to be taken advantage of - or at least, someone here is about to be.

That leaves three for Dick, and Steph is inwardly congratulating herself on a job well done when she spots the telltale glint of silver on the hand not currently groping her. Steeling herself, she puts on a big smile, hopes her mask is hiding the rest of her expression well enough, and turns to face the creep.

"Thank you so much," she enthuses, pressing ever so slightly closer to him. "I hope I didn't ruin my dress."

"I could help you check," he says, moving his free hand - the one she needs - to her waist.

Bingo.

She moves her hand to cover his wrist. "I don't think my boyfriend would like that," she says, loudly enough to catch Dick's attention; he turns and sees her, glances down at where she's holding the guy's wrist, and continues the charade without skipping a beat.

"Hey," he says, charging forward, and Steph slips the tech band off the guy's wrist just as Dick shoves him back. "You hitting on my girl?"

The creep immediately backs up a step, holding up his hands, his cuffs thankfully covering his now-bare wrist. "Calm down," he says. "It was just a bit of fun. I don't want any trouble."

Dick's eyes dart over to Steph, and she nods slightly. Mission accomplished. Now they just need the getaway.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dick says, sliding an arm around Steph's waist as she palms the band off to him. And then it takes all of her self-control to walk away slowly, not look back, not glance over to make sure Dick's got the tech. Successful night or not, this whole stealth business still really isn't for her.

They slip out the front door a moment later, and that's when they run, ducking down an alley and up a fire escape until they're a couple of rooftops away, out of sight but still able to see the building. Sure enough, it only takes a couple of minutes for five men to come storming out, splitting up and running both ways down the street, checking around corners but never looking up.

"Did we just pull that off?" she asks once they're gone, still pressed flat against Dick so they're both obscured by shadow. Her heart is racing again, and she tells herself it's just from the chase, from the thrill of nearly getting caught.

Dick grins at her, flashing the tech briefly as he slips it onto his wrist. "Like a pro."

She raises an eyebrow sceptically. "They're going to remember us."

"The drunk guy and the redhead?" he asks, slipping the mask and wig off her head. His hand lingers on the back of her neck, but his mask is still on, and she can't read his expression. "All fixed."

"And I didn't even ruin my dress," she says, trying to deflect.

Dick takes off his own mask, and this time his expression is super easy to read when he says, "Yet."

Steph's pretty sure her whole body flushes at that. Okay, so she knows what he said, but he probably didn't mean it, just - 

Except her body's still pressed almost flush against his, and she can feel it when his hand tightens on her hip, pulling her closer, and then she can feel, well. Other things.

"Um," she says, like _real smooth, Steph_ , but then it doesn't matter, because then she's using her mouth for other things.

Dick is, predictably, an amazing kisser. He pulls her closer again, leaning back against the protruding bricks so she's half on top of him, hand sliding under her dress so that it bunches up around her thighs. She reaches around to squeeze his ass - hey, she's got the opening, right? - and then gasps as his hand slides up even further, slipping inside the band of her barely-there underwear, and yep, she's going to third base with Dick Grayson on an open rooftop. This is - 

Well, fucking amazing, actually. She fumbles at his belt between breaths, coming short and sharp, now, but his pants are harder to open than she imagines the Batsuit must be, and eventually she gives up, palming him over the fabric as his fingers reach just _there_ and she cries out silently. Dick jerks underneath her, pulling her tight against him, and then they're both breathing heavily, straightening clothes and examining ruined fabric.

"Yet," Steph agrees, and blows out a hoarse laugh. She should have known better than to think the dress would make it all the way through the night. Dick's pants are probably in worse shape.

He's watching her carefully, as if making sure she's all right, and she nearly laughs again. 'All right' would be a definite understatement.

"So," she says. "Since I'm going to have to change now anyway, what do you say we do it my way this time? Meet me back here in an hour?"

Dick grins, lazy and satisfied, but there's something like a challenge in his eyes. "See you in an hour," he says. "Batgirl."

Yep, she thinks. Tonight is _definitely_ going to be fun.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [To Get a Dirty Job Done (The Redheaded Woman Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229676) by [victoria_p (musesfool)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p)




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